


Catspaw

by Vagrant_Blvrd



Series: Touch Not the Cat [3]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werecreatures, Alternate Universe- GTA V, Fake AH Crew, M/M, Multi, Pre-Fake AH Crew, Pre-Relationship, Supernatural Elements, Werecats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 14:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20409283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrant_Blvrd/pseuds/Vagrant_Blvrd
Summary: Michael grew up knowing about shifters.





	Catspaw

**Author's Note:**

> Another entry in the Werecat AUs series. Because reasons.

Michael grew up knowing about shifters.

Relatives and neighborhood kids. Family friends and all that bullshit, so it’s just like anything else to him. 

Learned early on that were some who never seemed to notice when the moon waxed or waned, and some whose lives were tied to the phases of the moon.

Ones born with a touch of magic to them, comfortable in their own skin no matter what form they were in. Ones who’d gotten a rude awakening, worlds turned upside down and scrambling to find their footing in the aftermath thanks to a chance encounter or bad decision. 

Ones who took what life had given them and used it to the fullest, for better or worse. Ones who fought who they were tooth and nail (fang and claw), all their lives because they didn’t know any other way. (Put their trust in the wrong people and paid for it.)

_“All kinds,”_ his grandmother used to tell him, this look on her face that always seemed sad to him. _“And every single one of them a goddamned idiot.”_

Which, yeah.

Goes a hell of a long way to explain Gavin, because he’s just too much of an idiot to be normal.

========

“Something wrong?”

Michael looks up from his phone to see Jeremy giving him an odd look.

Tonight was supposed to be all fun and games and celebrating another successful heist, and odds are good it’ll get real interesting before long.

Geoff’s goading Jack into another round of darts because he claims the first Jack’s win the first one was a fluke, _c’mon, asshole, you gotta_ and Jack’s exasperation as he gives in. The Twins and Fiona are pulling some kind of hustle with some rough looking bikers, and God only know what Matt and Lindsay are up to. 

Colluding, and God help them all when they put whatever plan they have in action.

Michael and Jeremy are working through a couple beers while they wait to see how things unfold, fair bit of money riding on things. (Should have known that Gavin would be the winner even though he’s not even here.)

“Gavin’s Cat got got,” he says, and tosses money on the table to cover as he gets up to cover the next round of drinks he promised Jeremy. “I need to spring the idiot from animal jail before the shelter closes.”

Jeremy gets up too because he’s the good kind of idiot. Would go along with Michael to watch his back just in case, but it’s unneccessary.

Kind of for the best if he doesn’t come along.

“I’ve got it. You stay here and make sure those assholes don’t get in too much trouble.”

Jeremy snorts, mouth twitching up little grin because they both know that’s asking for the impossible.

========

Michael’s been to this shelter before in the past, so the woman behind the counter is a familiar face. 

“Hey, Sally.”

It’s a bad sign that he’s on a first-name basis with half the staff here, but Gavin’s Cat is a dumbass and they love him. He brings them all kinds of trouble in the form of strays and half-starved kittens too skittish to let the volunteers working here close enough to help.

Sally eyes Michael, the scrapes and bruises he picked up during the heist earlier, but chooses not to comment on them. (Los Santos is a rough city, and there are all kinds of reasons for Michael to look like shit.)

“We might have to charge rent, the amount of times he ends up here,” she says with a tired smile.

Michael doesn’t sigh, no, but she must see it on his face because she laughs as she gestures for him to follow her to the back. She stops in front of a cage and casts him an odd look.

“He picked up a friend,” Sally says, just as a low, angry growl comes from said cage. 

Hits that pitch that has the hairs on the back of Michael’s neck lifting, ends a chill down his spine. 

Low and angry. Furious. 

Michael moves closer and sees a big black-furred bastard that looks like it hasn't had the easiest life pressing Gavin’s Cat against the back of the cage in a protective gesture. Looks like it would just love to go for Michael’s throat the moment he gives it a chance despite the cast on one of its forelegs.

“The fuck.”

Sally clears her throat and Michael looks at her. Sees this flicker of anger in her eyes before she tucks it away again all nice and neat. (Special place in hell for people who hurt animals and all, and it looks like someone’s had a go at the black cat in the cage, so there’s that.)

“The two of them showed up a few hours ago,” she says. “His friend wasn’t chipped, but under the circumstances we felt it was safer to leave them together.”

Yeah, Michael can see that.

Usually the strays Gavin’s Cat brings to the shelter aren’t quite so protective. Tend to look to him for protection. Let the volunteers get a better look at them while he reassures them everything’s going to be just fine. 

This, though.

New.

Interesting as hell too.

The black-furred tomcat is a mean looking bastard, and the noises it’s making backs that up. Ready to throw down to protect Gavin’s Cat and eyeing them like it’s trying to decide who the bigger threat is. (The kind of intelligence in its eyes that speak to _other_, because of fucking course.)

Michael looks back at the little bastards. Sees Gavin’s Cat poke its head over the black tomcat’s shoulder to look at him and give a soft little meow.

Plaintive as fuck like he’s had a long night and just wants to go the hell home already. The sound of it startles the black tomcat into silence, has it twisting around to look at Gavin’s Cat with its head tilted.

Another soft little meow, a quiet trill, and the black cat’s ear flick back and forth for a moment before it stands up. Makes this worried little noise even as it lets the smaller cat move to the front of the cage to look out at Michael and Sally.

All big eyes and sad little face, this _poor, pitiful me_ act Michael’s see a million times by now.

Knows without looking Sally’s falling for it hook, line, and sinker even though the woman deals with cuter cats than this miserable fuzzball far too often.

“How much for the bodyguard?” Michael asks, and Sally flashes him a grin because she knows Michael’s his own brand of stupid.

“For you, honey, a discount,” she says, and goes to get a cat carrier. “And I’ll loan you a carrier since it looks like you forgot yours.”

========

Michael shells out the money for the black-furred bastard's medical costs. Tacks on a bit of a bonus over that because the shelter runs on donations and they do good work. They make an appointment to bring the black tomcat back in a few weeks to get the cast off and then they’re ready to leave.

Sally offers to get help getting the bastard in the carrier, but he tells her it won’t be necessary. Both of them watching as Gavin’s Cat gently bullies his new bodyguard into the carrier. Careful nips and shoulder nudges, encouraging little chirps and trills.

It’s a bit of a production, the black cat eyeing Michael and Sally the whole while. 

The drive back to the apartment is an absolute delight, what with two pairs of beady little eyes on him the whole time. A low, steady growl that starts up half a block away from the shelter and doesn’t let up until Michael pulls into the parking garage of their building.

It’s late enough by then their neighbors are all asleep, so they don’t run into anyone on the way up to the apartment.

Michael sets the carrier down in Gavin’s “office” which is more of a lair for the little troll he is and leaves the cats alone to sort themselves out as he goes to take a shower and changed for bed.

By the time he walks into the living room feeling a little more human, Gavin’s Cat is sitting on the back of the couch, tail wrapped primly around his feet as he watches Michael.

There’s this patch of darkness in the corner of the room, just a touch darker than the shadows it’s hiding in. (Unsettling)

“You better know what you’re doing, asshole,” Michael says as he takes a seat on the couch, watches Gavin’s Cat stroll over to him all casual-like, as if this doesn’t have the potential to blow up in their faces. 

He gets a chiding little chirrup, the damn thing stopping to bump his head against Michael’s jaw before deciding his lap is the most comfortable spot in the whole damn apartment. Slight pinprick of claws as the stupid bastard makes himself comfortable, low purr counterpoint to the news story Michael’s watching on the television.

========

Michael wakes up in the middle of the night to fingers on his face, brushing over the scrapes and bruises from the day before, and this soft worry he can _feel_.

“Fuck off,” he mutters, lips turning up at the soft laughter it earns him.

Opens his eyes to see Gavin watching him, frowning down at him so much Michael can see it without his glasses.

“Michael,” Gavin says, pout to it as he tips his head to the side. “You look awful, Michael.”

Michael snorts, because pot meet kettle much? Like, goddamn, just get a look at that dumb face in a mirror sometime.

“Nice,” Michael says, because really. _Nice_. “Where’s your new buddy?”

No point in asking what the fuck Gavin got up to out there on his own. Asshole will just give him the runaround, find something to get him riled up about and derail the whole conversation with a shit-eating grin on his face.

He’s extra squirrely about shit when the full moon rolls around, insists it doesn’t have hold on him the way it does with shifters who don't have a drop of magic in them. (Not like Gavin has anyway. Preternatural luck and a knack for knowing things that’s stood the crew in good stead since Geoff brought him on board.)

Which, you know.

Bullshit.

Idiot gets antsy around the full moon. Begs off crew get-togethers with the flimsiest excuses that have Michael certain he’s waiting on the others to figure shit out when it comes to him. Michael doesn’t play along so much as marvel at how fucking oblivious the others are. 

Gavin shrugs, this fluid little movement as he – super subtly – angles for room next to Michael. Lays down on the narrow space beside him and pushes and nudges, makes dissatisfied noises until Michael sighs and moves over to give him room.

“No idea,” he says, when he’s done fussing. “He’s shy.”

Shy.

The same demon cat that looked like he would have loved to gut Michael if he so much as breathed wrong in his or Gavin’s direction.

He's fucking _shy_.

Still, there’s something in the line of Gavin’s shoulders, this note to his voice that is too goddamned defensive for a simple enough question.

So.

“Alright,” Michael says. “But if he kills me in my sleep, I’m haunting your ass.”

Gavin laughs at him like ghosts aren’t a real thing in their world. Like Michael won’t do it.

“Go to sleep, asshole,” he mutters, and wonder of wonders, Gavin does.

Leans in to give Michael a quick little kiss on the cheek, eyes glinting with amusement before he reaches for the blankets and curls up against him.

========

Michael wakes up first the next morning, no real surprise there.

Gavin’s reverted to his four-footed form, which is a sign that whatever he got up last night took it out of him. He heals faster when he’s small and furry, doesn’t have to expend as much energy keeping his dumb human body chugging along.

So.

Michael goes to the kitchen, knocks about making breakfast for them both. He catches sight of Gavin’s buddy eyeing him from the top of the fridge and puts together a plate for him too.

“Hey,” Michael says, watching him carefully. “You want any eggs?”

He should feel stupid, talking to a cat like it can understand him. There’s always the chance it’s just a run of the mill cat, some stray that took a liking too, but with the way it’s watching him – yeah.

He’s almost certain it’s someone’s Cat. Shifted form that comes with new instincts and behaviors that according to Gavin can be hard to reconcile with their human ones sometimes. Makes things harder than they need to be no matter what form they’re in.

“Alright,” Michael says, when the damn thing doesn’t give a sign either way. “Hope you like scrambled.”

No response from the peanut gallery, so Michael gets out a small bowl to keep the eggs separate from the rest of the food in case the asshole’s allergic and sets it out for him.

Michael leaves Gavin’s food in the microwave and takes his own over to the table and sits down to check his messages while he eats.

There are some texts from the others, normal crew business. Reminders about planning meeting for their next heist, smaller jobs Geoff wants him on. Annoying shit Trevor wants him to look into – go with Gavin to smooth over some small misunderstanding with one of their allies. Partner up with Jeremy to remind some assholes who they’re working for, that kind of thing.

Jeremy’s also sent him some pictures he took from the previous night and the shit the others got up to. His personal favorite, though, has to be of the selfie Jeremy took after what looks like one hell of a fight.

Barroom brawl, more like.

Just a big, stupid grin on his face and this fucking black eye, guys twice his size face down on the floor behind him.

“Fucking moron,” Michael mutters, because of course Jeremy would take a selfie like that.

There’s a ruckus behind him, this clatterscrabble_thump_, and Michael doesn’t dare turn to see what caused it because he doesn’t want to spook the dumb cat. (Cat? Fuck if Michael knows.)

He keeps an ear out for sounds of distress, but when all he hears are the sound of the cat (Cat?) eating, he answers his messages.

========

Jeremy drops by a few hours later to pick Michael for a crew-sanctioned play date with some idiots. 

He also has a package for Gavin from Matt. Hacker shit, or some tech he wants the idiot to look over for him, something like that anyway.

“Uh,” Jeremy says, sounding mildly concerned. “Did you know - “

Michael follows Jeremy’s gaze to where Gavin’s new bodyguard is eyeing them from his perch on top of a bookshelf. (Michael’s impressed he can climb up to those spots with a cast on one his legs.)

“Yeah,” he says, shooting the cream tabby that sprawled all over Jeremy the moment he sat down a look. “Gavin’s dumb Cat picked up a bodyguard last night.”

The fact that he didn’t try to claw Jeremy’s face off when Gavin’s Cat cozied up to Jeremy all friendly-like is a little surprising. 

“Michael,” Jeremy says, disapproving tone in his voice as he scritches the tabby's chin. “Gavin said you were getting along better with his cat.”

And, see.

The annoying thing about Gavin’s Cat is that everyone else in the crew is so damn _oblivious_.

They’re just.

Real fucking dumb.

They know as well as Michael does that shit like magic and whatever else exist. 

That there are werewolves roaming the streets of Los Santos aching for the full moon, vampires loitering behind skeevy clubs and back alleys looking for an easy target.

Assholes like Gavin and more out there, and still somehow haven’t realized there’s anything more to Gavin’s incredible luck than the ordinary despite all the proof to the contrary. That it’s just a finely tuned sense of intuition – human intuition – that allows him to just _know_ the things he does. 

(Who can be trusted, who can’t. Other things that can’t quit be put into words but aren’t normal the way most people define things.)

Think Michael let Gavin talk him into getting a cat when they found out about Gavin’s Cat because they all know he can’t say no to Gavin and have it stick. Don’t stop to wonder why the damn thing and Gavin are never in the room at the same time because Gavin insists his Cat’s shy, which is the biggest crock of shit Michael's ever heard, but whatever. 

(Makes Michael wonder if there’s some low-level glamour involved in it, something Gavin isn’t even conscious of to explain it.)

Point is, Jeremy loves cats almost as much as Gavin and Lindsay, and he adores Gavin’s Cat. Doesn’t understand why Michael never uses the name Gavin came up with for it way back when. Something unbelievably British and dumb and so very Gavin. Thinks Michael still doesn’t like the damn thing given the times he’s voiced his dislike for cats.

“I mean,” Michael says, Gavin’s Cat watching him through slitted eyes so goddamned smug about Jeremy defending his honor. “I’m fine with tolerating the little fucker.”

Gavin’s Cat makes a pitiful little noise and paws at Jeremy’s leg. All sadness and sorrow on the inside or whatever, and Jeremy falls for the act the way everyone else does.

“Aww, it’s okay, buddy,” Jeremy says, slipping into the baby-talk voice he uses with anything cute and adorable. “Gavin loves you and so do I. Michael's just a grump.”

Michael rolls his eyes as Gavin’s Cat shamelessly snuggles the hell out of Jeremy, and shares a look with the black tomcat, because wow, yeah. 

Bit much.

“Fun as this is,” Michael says, because hey. “Didn’t Geoff want us to deal with those idiots in Cypress Flats?”

Jeremy blinks, flush creeping along his cheeks as he looks up at Michael, still snuggling Gavin’s Cat like a moron.

“Uh, yeah,” he says, coughing to clear his throat. “That. We should go?”

Michael snorts.

“Probably a good idea, yeah.”

========

Michael likes Jeremy.

Thinks he’s a good fit for the crew, brought life to it they were missing in the wake or Ray’s departure and then some. (Kicked their asses into gear, showed them just how complacent they’d gotten over the years.)

He’s good for the crew, yeah, but goddamn is he trouble sometimes.

The assholes Trevor wanted them to deal with aren’t the intellectually gifted sort. No creative thinkers there, and Jeremy - 

“You kiss your mother with that mouth, asshole?”

Michael sighs as he yanks Jeremy back behind cover and hands him a spare magazine.

“Could you maybe not?” Michael asks, because antagonizing the assholes into trying to kill them harder isn’t a great idea. “Just this once. Don’t?”

And Jeremy, because he’s just that kind of stupid, looks at Michael like he doesn’t understand what he’s talking about.

“What?”

========

Somehow, they don’t die horribly.

Luck or whatever you want to call it and an abundance of ammunition see the two of them through the goddamned shootout Jeremy got them into with only minor injuries.

“Didn’t even need that many stitches,” Michael says, watching the way Gavin’s Cat is sniffing at the fresh bandages he’s sporting. “But you know how Jack gets.”

Petty.

Vindictive.

Enjoys the suffering of others while making it sound like a valid concern or some bullshit.

The wound on Michael’s arm would have been fine with a few butterfly bandages, not the bulky, awkward thing Jack insisted on, but it’s not like Michael was going to be the one to point that out to him.

No.

He left that to Jeremy who came out of things with a busted lip and bruised ribs. This gash on his leg and looking like a fucking mummy by the time Jack was through with him.

So.

“I’m fine,” Michael says, gently flicking the damn tabby on the nose to get him to stop fussing. Glances to where the black tomcat is watching from the top of the bookshelf. “Seriously, everything’s great.”

He hurts like fuck and Geoff kicked him and Jeremy out of the penthouse. Banned them for at least a week, and now Michael’s got a pair of idiot Cats to deal with.

Gavin’s Cat trills, and Michael feels himself smile as the damn thing snuggles up next to him as some crappy movie plays on the television, sound of its purring chasing any lingering tension away.

========

The next week isn’t very exciting, what with Michael healing up from the shitshow of a job.

Gavin sticks to his furry form for most of it, flitting between annoying Michael and his new BFF. 

The tomcat prefers to stay out of sight when he can, or on a perch as high as he can get with his bum leg. Keeps his distance from Michael, but as the days go by and he realizes Michael's more bark than bite that gets shorter and shorter.

Has Gavin smug as fuck when the tomcat curls up on the end of the couch one night while some terrible action movie plays on the television. 

“Shut your mouth,” Michael says, and tweaks the tabby’s tail when Gavin’s Cat gives him this _look_. 

The tomcat flicks an ear in their direction, but doesn’t seem to care about what either of them are doing. 

Halfway through the movie he moves to the end of the couch under the safety of darkness and starts purring when Gavin sidles over to him. 

It’s a nice thing to hear, this deep rumbling purr that has Michael drifting off before he knows it.

========

Geoff needs Gavin for a job, quick little meet and greet with potential allies and he’s sending him out with the Twins.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Michael says when Gavin tells him all about that. “Just when the city was recovering too.”

Latest heist behind them and rebuilding efforts just about finished, and now this.

Gavin’s rushing around getting ready before the Trevor and Alfred pick him up, but he still has time to stick his head into the living room and scowl at Michael.

“_Michael_,” he whines, accent mangling Michael's name in the most atrocious way. “That’s not fair, Michael.”

Gavin drums his spindly little fingers on the door frame, eyes doing this shifty back and forth as he avoids meeting Michael's gaze.

Michael, for his part, just waits. Knows Gavin can’t stand the pressure of it, and true to form he breaks a little while later. 

“...Jeremy dared me,” he says quietly, like that’s any kind of excuse because Jeremy is a disaster of a human being masquerading as a responsible adult.

Trevor and Alfredo are much the same, even though they hide it better. (On their own, those two aren’t too bad. Pair them up, and you’re looking at an Incident. Toss Gavin into the mix and it’s a catastrophe.)

The black tomcat sneezes, drawing a pout out of Gavin that Michael is hard-pressed not to laugh at.

“You weren’t even there,” Gavin says, acting all indignant even though Michael can see the laughter in his eyes when he glances at Michael, mouth twitching. “You don’t get to judge.”

The tomcat yawns, showing off an impressive array of teeth and heavy judgment that sends Gavin back out of the room and down the hall in a huff.

Michael looks at the tomcat, slitted eyes and twitching tail. Seems all calm and unbothered, but Michael’s sure he isn’t.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “The city’s survived worse.”

Not...not all that reassuring, but if Los Santos is still standing after everything that’s been thrown at it over the years it can survive those idiots.

========

Los Santos at large survives Gavin and the Twins. 

(A certain area in La Mesa, however, does not.)

========

Gavin’s out of town when the appointment to get the tomcat’s cast off rolls around. 

The tomcat is restless, antsy and Michael is not looking forward to carting him back to the shelter. 

“Okay, look,” Michael says as he sets the carrier they use for Gavin’s Cat on the kitchen table. 

It makes Michael feel a little weird sometimes, but the two of them have used it on jobs before. People not realizing the sweet-faced tabby is a horrible little bastard they don’t want anywhere near their sensitive information.

“You get two choices here, buddy.” The tomcat is watching him from his favorite perch on top of the refrigerator. Not so much wary of Michael anymore as it seems to be habit. When it doubt go for height or some shit, Michael doesn’t know. “Hop in here, or if you’re going to be reasonable about things, you can have the passenger seat.”

The tomcat’s been good about things when they go the penthouse or anywhere else, but people get weird when you show up to a place like the shelter without carting your animal around in a carrier. 

Weird, and super judgmental, which is annoying as fuck and Michael and Gavin don’t have the patience to deal with it anymore.

The tomcat climbs down from his perch and makes his way across the counter and the short jump to the table. Michael watches as he sniffs at the carrier, and then meows.

This affronted little thing as the tomcat looks at Michael, pointedly turning his back on the carrier.

“Yeah, okay,” Michael says. “Figured that’s what you’d pick.”

========

On the way back home, Michael glances over at the tomcat when they’re at a red light.

The tomcat’s got his front feet braced on the dash as he looks out through the windshield, watching the city around them and anxious to get back out there.

No wonder, because the poor bastard’s been stuck with Gavin and Michael while he heals up and it’s sure to driving him crazy by now. (Couple of assholes like them? Oh hell yeah.)

“Hey,” Michael says. “I know you’ve had enough of us assholes and want to get back to your life, but if you could wait until Gavin gets back to run off that would be awesome.”

Michael knows Gavin could track the fucker down again if he wanted to, but it’d save everyone’s time if he didn’t have to. (That, and Gavin’s pretty attached to the bastard.)

“I mean, hey,” Michael says, taking his foot off the brake when the light turns green. “Not like I personally give a shit, but Gavin would be annoying as fuck if you didn’t at least say goodbye.”

The tomcat flicks an ear and turns his head to look at Michael. Drops back down into the passenger seat when Michael sets his foot on the gas.

Watches Michael with those pale blue eyes and this sense of amusement Michael doesn’t appreciate one goddamned bit.

“...Fuck off, asshole.”

========

The tomcat doesn’t make a run for it the moment he can, no.

He just goes around investigating Michael and Gavin’s apartment like he hasn’t been living with them for weeks now, have the layout memorized by now. Explores every nook and cranny and gets a little daring when it comes to being in the same room with Michael.

Settles in now that he has use of all his limbs again like he’s not planning on going anywhere just yet.

“Whoa,” Michael says, when he finds it sitting just a seat cushion away from him on the couch. “How forward of you.”

The tomcat spares him a look, mild annoyance that is miles from the baleful look Michael would have gotten at the beginning of this little mess.

It’s clear the tomcat is more comfortable with Gavin, allowing the little shit to snuggle up to him in either form, but still keeps his distance with Michael.

Which, fair.

Michael chuckles and puts on another shitty movie for them to heckle the fuck out of.

========

If Gavin’s surprised the tomcat's still there when he gets back to Los Santos, he doesn’t show it.

No.

The little fucker just smiles, all soft and quietly pleased and Michael has a hard time giving him shit for it, so he keeps his trap shut.

Watches out of the corner of his eye as the tomcat goes up to him to welcome him home, deep rumbling purr filling the air and this tightness in Michael's chest. 

========

When the next full moon rolls around the tomcat gets restless, antsy. Growls at Michael when he makes the mistake of getting too close. Thought the progress they’ve made towards one another would hold in the face of the way the full moon is affecting him and miscalculated. 

The tomcat growls, takes a swipe at Michael with his claws out and ears flat against his head as he struggles against base instincts.

Michael apologizes as he moves back, but Gavin’s had enough.

Shifts into his Cat form and pounces on the tomcat, wrestles him down.

For a moment Michael's worried he’s being a reckless idiot again. Thinks the tomcat isn’t struggling with his instincts going a little haywire on him with the full moon affecting him the way it is – but in that weird, infuriating way of his, Gavin is right again.

The tomcat snarls and growls, lets out these noises that get at Michael's hind brain, but he doesn’t hurt Gavin’s Cat. 

Bigger and stronger, more muscle to him against the tabby’s agility and nimbleness, and yet Gavin’s Cat wins. Pins the tomcat under him and this smugness to him as he looks over at Michael, purring away like an idiot.

“Fucking Christ, Gav,” Michael mutters, because he’s an idiot.

Throws himself headfirst into the worst situations and somehow comes out on top.

And sure, Michael knows the tomcat wouldn’t hurt Gavin or his Cat, but the full moon plays merry hell with shifters of all kinds. Pure animal instinct against puny human brains and everything they fuck themselves up over the years to fit in with non-shifters.

Gavin’s Cat chirrups, and gets to his feet. Backs up a little and peers down at the sullen looking tomcat. Cocks his head and – like the idiot he is – bats at the tomcat’s face before hopping backwards.

Light, playful. Silent dare in it as he back up a little more, tail up and ears forward.

The tomcat watches him for a long moment, gaze flicking to Michael and back. Unsure of what the right response is after the little scuffle, and full of restless energy he needs to work off somehow.

So.

Gavin trills, and bounces forward to bat the tomcat’s face again, and that’s what does it. Has the tomcat up on his feet and chasing Gavin around the room until they both zip through the window they always leave open just enough for a Cat to slip through and out into the city.

Michael sighs, and sets to cleaning up the mess they made of things during their brief game of tag. Shit knocked over everywhere and a goddamned disaster, but that’s nothing new with Gavin, so there’s that.

========

Michael’s chasing after another perfect game when the two idiots get back. Morning not too far away and Gavin is very much a smug asshole.

Chirps at Michael as he walks across the couch to him, head held high along with his tail and looking far too pleased with himself. The tomcat is a bit more reluctant, seems to be dragging his feet as he jumps up to the couch. Keeps more distance from Michael than he has been, like he’s concerned about Michael’s reaction to him.

Looks at him, pale blue eyes and this thing that reeks of guilt. 

Nervous, almost, and then Gavin’s there. 

Little noises and shoulder nudges, pushing the tomcat closer to Michael just the tiniest bit and settles himself between them, a living breathing barrier that starts purring when the tomcat butts his head against the tabby’s.

Michael watches the two of them from the corner of his eye and bites back a sigh because these assholes, okay. These fucking assholes.

========

To no one’s surprise, the tomcat disappears a few days later.

Just up and vanishes on them, not so much as a goodbye. 

“Rude, innit,” Gavin says, but he doesn’t sound too broken-hearted over it, has that look to him that says he knows a secret Michael doesn’t, so Michael doesn’t worry.

========

“And then,” Geoff says, voice carrying over the muffled groans from the others, “and then Jack comes in with the Cargobob and we fly away into the sunset like assholes.”

Michael glances at Gavin, sees the smile pulling at his mouth he isn’t letting free quite yet, and knows the fucker had something to do with their latest heist. (Always does, somehow. Pieces of him all over the fucking place, and more he left behind with the Roosters.)

“Just had to stop for Starbucks, didn’t you?” Michael mutters, because they missed the best part of the briefing, didn’t get to see the new hired muscle’s reactions to it when Geoff unveiled the miniatures Geoff had mocked up for these things. 

Gavin shrugs and takes a noisy sip of his drink – something stupid complicated because he knows the assholes in line behind him will equate it to Sophistication and be impressed with him or some shit.

Michael watches him as he shoves his gaudy as hell sunglasses into his hair, glint of amusement in his eye and the living embodiment of trouble.

“It’s been a long week, Michael,” he says, going hard on his accent to mangle Michael’s name. “Needed the caffeine.”

Michael shakes his head and – because manners – knocks on the conference door before shoving it open.

Takes a quick glance around to see the rest of the crew in their usual seats and Geoff standing by the whiteboard at the head of the table, pointer in hand.

The hired muscle is leaning up against the far wall, little patch of shadows cast by the fuckoff huge potted palm in the corner.

Big guy. 

Distinctive leather jacket, but it’s the dumb mask that draws the eye.

Some Halloween store bullshit, edgelord supreme with the black skull and way over the top, so naturally Los Santos loves the drama of it all. People coming up with all kinds of stories about the asshole to terrify the newbies with, idiots new to town who don’t know anything about the shitshow they walked into.

The Vagabond looks over at them, gaze moving past Michael’s shoulder to land on Gavin for a moment before it settles on Michael.

Anyone else, and it would be a challenge. This fucker though?

It feels like a question.

Michael rolls his eyes and looks at the miniatures set up on the conference table, all customized and shit for each of them. (Even the Vagabond has one.)

What look like generic little toy cars for the heist vehicles, except of course for Jack’s Cargobob, because they’re all idiots.

By the looks of things the briefing has already broken down into confusion and chaos, the others poking holes into his “brilliant plan” while it’s still in the early stages. Ripe for mocking and more than ready for things like common sense and all that boring shit to be brought into the picture.

“You figure out what we’re going to do with the tank?” Michael asks, because last he heard that was a complication, ugly little snag in the heist plans no one had figured out yet and it would nice to know before they finalize anything.

Geoff clears his throat and someone has a coughing fit.

“I’ve always wanted one for myself,” the Vagabond pipes up, like that’s not a crazy thing to say. “If I take it out of the equation, do I get to keep it?”

That should really be a no, or even a hell no, based on the more reliable stories about the guy, but since this is them?

“Sure,” Geoff says, and throws his hands in the air in defeat. “Why the fuck not. Surely nothing could go wrong there.”

========

The next few weeks are taken up with heist planning. Fine-tuning Geoff’s initial plans until they’re less likely to result in the crew’s demise (fiery or otherwise) in horrible ways.

“Nice,” Michael says, when he hears their estimated odds of survival, hovering somewhere just above fifty-fifty. “I’m filled with confidence.”

Gavin rolls his eyes because he’s a rude fucker, but the Vagabond over in the corner sharpening his knives snorts.

Gavin shoots him a betrayed look the guy ignores, and Michael - 

Well.

He knows why Geoff wants him around when everyone else is out doing their bit for the sake of the heist. Knows he has enough trust in the Vagabond being a professional to bring him in on the heist, and just enough paranoia that he doesn’t want to leave him alone with Gavin. (God knows Gavin could drive anyone to murder without even trying.)

Still.

The Vagabond’s a weird asshole to be sure. 

Quiet and watchful and all that shit. Keeps to himself and doesn’t talk much, but he’s not what the stories make him out to be from what Michael’s seen.

Doesn’t try to intimidate any of them. Even the thing where he likes to sharpen his knives or clean his weapons isn’t...whatever the hell they should be. Feels more like a comfort thing to him, something familiar to take the edge off being in a new place surrounded by people he doesn’t know.

(The fact he seems more at ease around Gavin and Michael isn’t lost on him, though.)

“Michael, you’re such a pessimist, Michael,” Gavin mutters, like Michael should be thrilled at the fact they all stand a chance of _maybe_ dying horribly in Geoff’s dumb heist. “Things will be fine.”

========

“Okay, look,” Michael says, only bleeding a little bit. “So you go get the car, I’ll hold them off.”

He gets a _look_ from the Vagabond, disbelief and incredulousness and this very clear sense of _no_ and _are you crazy?_ and _Jesus fucking Christ_ and the asshole hasn’t even said anything.

Michael sighs, because there are sirens in the distance getting closer and a few dead bodies scattered around them in the alley.

Also, one of the reasons he’s bleeding is gnawing on his shoelaces.

A tiny, adorable ball full of fluff of sharp little claws and teeth. Fierce protector of its siblings and ailing mother and no, those are not his heartstrings being tugged. Indigestion, maybe, because fast food plus a shootout in a gross alley don’t go well together.

“Look asshole,” Michael says, unamused by this whole...situation. “You’re the one who started fussing with the damn strays, you go get the fucking car.”

Michael will stay behind to make sure they don’t follow the idiot and (hopefully) they all get out of this before the cops show up because it would just destroy the image the Fakes have built up for themselves as badass mofos. (Like anyone ever believed that, but he knows the kinds of headlines this would get for them with fucking Risinger out there.)

The Vagabond gives Michael another _look_, and then sighs in much the same way Geoff does when he realized the horrible mistake he made recruiting them for his crew.

“..._Fine_,” the big baby huffs, and trots off to bring the car around.

Michael has to hold a kitten back when it tries to follow him. Sets the foot not being viciously attacked in front of it and gently push it back into the pile of kittens huddled around their mother who’s watching Michael.

Too sick to get up and defend her little brood, but the little calico shredding the fuck out of Michael’s shoelace is doing a damn fine job of things herself.

“Fucking hell,” Michael mutters, because this is his life now, isn’t it. 

Strays all over the place and all of them a pain in his neck and Jesus Christ, if he’d known this would happen when Geoff first approached him about a job he’d have said no. (Would have been smarter, to begin with. Save himself a whole hell of a lot of heartache with the trouble the assholes in his life get into all the damn time.)

========

Sally totally doesn’t laugh at Michael when he brings mama cat and her balls of fluff in to get checked over, goodness no.

Doesn’t even bat an eye at the Vagabond standing behind Michael with his dumb mask or the lame excuse that he’s just a friend who’s going to auditions for a show later and is one of those pretentious method actor types. (Would the real Vagabond give a shit about a cardboard box of strays? Fuck no. It’s just a loser theater nerd with a soft heart.)

“Either of you get scratched or bitten?” she asks, handing the box over to a volunteer who coos at the kittens even though the calico is trying to tear through the box powered by her own righteous fury and indignation.

Michael holds up his hand to show off the scratches the calico gifted him with, and sighs as Sally continues to totally not laugh at him.

“Well,” she says, like a consummate professional. “At least you’re up to date on your rabies shots.”

That - 

Yeah.

Silver lining and all that shit.

“Put it on Gavin’s tab,” Michael says, waving his uninjured hand to where the volunteer took the box of strays. “Idiot owes me after last time.”

Sally nods, likely expecting that, and leaves Michael and the Vagabond in the shelter’s waiting area until they’re done with the strays.

They could leave, sure. Trust Sally and the others here to handle the damn things, but Michael’s certain he’d have a fight on his hands if he tried that. The Vagabond’s turning out to be a stubborn bastard and after dealing with Gavin and the others as long as he has, Michael’s learned to pick his fights.

The Vagabond stays silent while they wait. Seems tense and uncomfortable here, and Michael has the feeling it’s not just due to the stares he gets.

“Hey,” Michael says, and snaps a picture of the asshole when he looks because Geoff has been texting him like crazy since Michael told him their part of this prep phase didn't go well and is concerned they’re dead in a ditch somewhere. “Geoff wants proof of life.”

The Vagabond has this – okay, Michael can’t see his face with the dumb mask in the way, so it’s more like body posture and shit – but he’s wondering why the hell he agreed to whatever job offer Geoff gave him.

Which, you know. Too damn late for that now.

========

Gavin and Jeremy make the most ungodly noises Michael’s ever heard when he and the Vagabond go back to the penthouse with a box of strays.

Mama cat’s on antibiotics for the next few weeks and her and her kittens have been cleared to go, although they’ll need to be get their shots soon.

The kittens burst out of the box the moment Michael sets it in his and Gavin’s room to give mama cat somewhere quiet to recover and a safe spot for the kittens to retreat to.

Or would, but the little brats tumble head over paw after Michael when he heads to the living room. Most of them make a beeline for the Vagabond, but a few of the stragglers go over to investigate the mystery that is Jeremy’s fashion sense and Gavin is going to run out of room on his phone with all the filming he’s doing.

Michael rolls his eyes at the idiots as he goes to tell Geoff about the bizarre day he and the Vagabond had.

“Think she’s trustworthy?” Geoff asks him, once the door shuts behind him, hint of a smile on his face.

Michael glances down to where the calico is exploring the conference room, all fluffed up like she’s expecting an enemy to pop up out of nowhere.

“Better than those assholes out there,” Michael says, because God knows they’d sell each other out for shits and giggles. Or maybe just a bag of chips.

Geoff gives Michael a look because he knows, okay, he fucking well knows.

========

They can’t have a bunch of cats at the penthouse, too much dangerous shit around and Geoff’s peace of mind at stake, but.

By the end of the first week the kittens are all claimed. Little collars on them with the name of whoever is bringing them home with them when they’re old enough written on them. (Jeremy, the absolute madman is taking three of them, because he’s trying to out crazy-cat person Lindsay.)

Gavin keeps laughing at Michael because the calico won’t fucking leave him alone, and the Vagabond?

He’s got this soft spot for mama cat, and Michael doesn’t blame him.

She was too sick at the time to scare them off from her kittens, but stubborn enough to put herself between them and the stupid humans who stumbled over them. Watched them from her hiding spot like she’d like nothing better than to tear into them if they made a wrong move, and watchful the whole time Michael and the Vagabond toted the lot of them around.

Pretty little tuxedo cat, bright green eyes and this soft meow, sweet as anything.

“My building doesn’t take pets,” the Vagabond says late one night.

Everyone’s gone home and Geoff and Jack are out schmoozing with allies, and it’s just the three of them. (Five, if you count the calico and mama cat.)

Gavin’s passed out after one too many all-nighters working on the heist, and drooling like fuck all over Michael’s shoulder. There’s a shitty made for television movie about the dangers of something or other on and the Vagabond’s brooding.

Michael glances over, sees sad panda Vagabond with mama cat on his lap, and sighs.

The Vagabond’s one of theirs now, in too deep with the crew to back out and all that shit. Made the mistake of getting attached and now he’s trapped here same as Michael, poor bastard.

The calico’s asleep next to him, sharp little claws digging into his leg every so often as she dreams or whatever it is cats do when they sleep.

“Don’t look at me,” he says, because he knows where this is headed. “I can’t stand cats.”

========

The next full moon is a little hectic, what with a heist in the works and Gavin being the general sort of lunatic he always is.

And, you know, a pair of normal cats thrown into the mix because Michael's a soft touch and the worst kind of sucker there is.

The calico’s not so quick to want a fight these days, but she’s not thrilled when the tomcat shows up out of nowhere.

Hisses and snarls and flashes her claws at him when he slips through the open window because hey, no, this is her little kingdom asshole, get the fuck out - 

And then she must catch her scent because she freezes. Goes stock still for a long moment before she breaks and dashes over to where Gavin’s Cat is lounging on the back of the couch next to mama cat.

Confused as hell and seeking comfort and Michael - 

“Hey, asshole,” Michael says, watching the tomcat as he ventures over. “Been a while.”

Michael gets one of those _looks_, and he cracks a grin as the tomcat touches noses with mama cat before greeting Gavin’s Cat.

All nice and polite and Gavin’s Cat chirps, delighted to see the tomcat show up here again after staying away for so long.

There’s this little pause, and then Gavin’s Cat reaches out to bat the tomcat on the nose, head cocked just so.

It’s been a long week for all of them, but the full moon’s got Gavin’s Cat itching to get out in the city to run amok for hours now. Restless and antsy waiting to see if the tomcat would show up for another round of wacky antics and other shenanigans.

The tomcat glances to Michael for a moment, like he’s asking permission as if that’s ever meant a damn thing when it comes to Gavin or his Cat.

Nice of him, though. _Polite_, unlike others Michael could name.

He looks at the tomcat, and can’t help but smile at the way the fucker holds his gaze, doesn’t look away.

Trust or something like it, and it’s worth everything in the world.

Gavin’s cat makes an impatient noise and rises to his feet, giving the tomcat a little nudge with his shoulder to get him moving towards the window. 

The tomcat’s bigger and stronger than Gavin’s Cat. All these scars and marks of honor from past fights and scuffles, and he still lets the little bastard push him around, all amused about it.

Michael snorts because they make quite the pair, and shares a look with mama cat and the calico. They might just be normal cats, but they know idiots when they see them.

“Just try not to set anything on fire,” Michael calls after them, and listens to the pitter-patter of little feet out to wreak havoc in the city as they make their way up the fire escape.

========

Michael wakes up to the smell of cooking bacon, and is instantly suspicious.

Gavin knows the basics off cooking, can (mostly) boil water without burning it, but generally speaking he’s not an early riser. Sure as fuck wouldn’t bother cooking breakfast when he can grab some at the place down the street or cajole (annoy) Michael into cooking for him.

And, like he knew he would, he passes Gavin sacked out on the living room couch with mama cat curled up against his side and the calico on his chest.

Curiosity piqued, Michael pokes his head into the kitchen to see some asshole standing over their stove frowning at the pan of bacon he’s cooking.

Michael should be concerned about some stranger breaking into their place to...cook bacon, but whatever.

It's too early for the dramatics and the guy has a decent enough face.

Nothing to write home about, but it’s not horrendous or anything.

The guy doesn’t seem to have noticed Michael’s presence, so it gives him a chance to take in the finer details or some bullshit like that.

Decent face, and the guy’s hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail. He’s clutching a can of diet soda in one hand like it’s a lifeline.

“Hey,” Michael says, because the only reason they have that shit on hand is for when the Vagabond comes over to visit mama cat. “You look like hell.”

The guy blinks, and frowns harder at the bacon sizzling away like he thinks it’s talking to him, and then he seems to realize what an absurd thing that would be and looks over at Michael.

Has this moment where it’s obvious there’s nothing going on upstairs, and then - 

“Well that’s just rude,” the guy says, familiar voice and the lightest dash of sarcasm ever. “Good morning to you too.”

Michael _hmms_, and decides someone needs to start the coffee since this idiot doesn’t touch the stuff unless it’s a last resort.

“You idiots have fun last night?” he asks as he measures out the grounds and fills the coffee maker reservoir, something comforting to the routine of it all. “Or should I just watch the news?”

The guy mumbles something too low for Michael to make out, and going by the blush that hits his cheeks, Michael’s betting he doesn’t want to turn the news on just yet. Might want to wait on that, or until one of the others calls to see if he knows anything about whatever happened.

So.

“You have a name?” 

Oh, Michael knows who the asshole is, but seeing as he’s not wearing the stupid mask right now it feels wrong to call him the Vagabond.

Michael gets an exasperated sigh, but hey, not his fault the asshole keeps coming back for more, now is it?

“...Ryan,” he says after a long moment, another show of trust Michael hasn’t done a damn thing to earn. “It’s Ryan.”

Not the kind of name you’d expect for someone with a reputation like the Vagabond, but this sleepy looking asshole? Yeah, Michael can see it.

“Bacon’s starting to burn,” Michael says, because Ryan’s got this wary look to him now. Expecting God knows what now that he’s given up another piece of himself like this. 

Ryan swears under his breath as he takes the pan off the burner and salvages what he can. 

Michael pulls up a chair to enjoy his coffee and listen to Ryan muttering to himself as he finishes making breakfast. He’s got a few missed calls and messages to go over, and it’s a rare moment of quiet before the others come looking for food, so he’ll make the most of it while he can.

========

“For a guy who hates cats as much as you do, you’ve got quite the collection,” Jeremy says, teasing the calico with a piece of string.

Michael grunts, because the tomcat is heavy as fuck and kneading the hell out of Michael’s legs as he settles in for the long haul. 

Gavin’s Cat is sprawled over Jeremy’s legs and mama cat is curled up in the bed someone got her a while back. The calico is being what can only be described as rambunctious because Jeremy loves to rile her up when he comes over for shitty movie night.

“Yeah, well,” Michael shrugs because Jeremy and the others are still idiots who have no damn clue about anything and Michael’s just as dumb in his own way because this isn’t completely terrible. “Life’s a bitch like that.”


End file.
